


No Droids Allowed

by skyereads



Series: Weird Things Din Does, a comprehensive list by one Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Plot, And needs a release, Canon-Typical Violence, Cute baby shenanigans, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Smut, The Helmet Stays On, Vibrators, everyone is tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23515420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyereads/pseuds/skyereads
Summary: Between baby-sitting duties, the cramped quarters aboard the Razor Crest, the continually high stress missions, and Din's dumb rules, Cara's on edge and ready for a night by herself. Things keep getting in the way.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune, Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Din Djarin/Cara Dune
Series: Weird Things Din Does, a comprehensive list by one Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735627
Comments: 24
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This thing practically wrote itself. So enjoy!

“What the hell is this?!”

Oh boy. No amount of training could prepare her for this. A heavily armored tin can of a Mandalorian stalked down to the cargo hold where Cara was trying to get the little green menace to eat something. Worst of luck, he was in a mood, and even – oh kriff! She jolted. He was carrying a hot pink distinctly phallic-shaped silicone item in his hand.

“Have you been going through my bunk?” She asked, coolly.

The trick was staying as calm as possible while he went off the rails, it always riled him up even more. He spluttered at her. “Is this a droid?!”

“Calm down, you know it’s not.”

He waved it wildly in her face, it jiggled most inappropriately.

“It’s a machine, though,” he retorted.

“Can we not do this in front of the kid?”

Said kid was looking, eyes wide and blinking between the two of them, fussing.

“Tell me what this is Dune.”

“It’s how I relax,” she said, shrugging.

He must have accidentally pushed the on-button for it suddenly starting humming and vibrating very loudly in his hand. He yelped and dropped it. It flopped on the floor with a lewd smack and continued to vibrate – much to the kid’s delight who started laughing and reaching his little claws for it.

“I’m so glad you have no idea what that is,” she said to the baby.

While she had never been into the baby-thing, this particularly one was actually growing on her, and dare she say, she got a kick out of sometimes babysitting the tyke. His antics were hilarious, and Din was, well, Din was a rare breed of gentle around him.

“I want it off my ship,” said Din with too much menace this early in the morning.

She went over and grabbed the vibrator, shutting it off. The cargo hold went quiet, except for the squirms from the kid.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Din spluttered even more. “What ever happened to the…to the, you know – the old-fashioned way?”

“I tried that for a while, and I got carpal tunnel. And we’re not exactly hitting up the best ports for picking up strangers, so, I don’t know what to tell you Din, but I’m a woman with needs!”

And then the strangest thing happened. Din went silent and as still as a statue. His helmet was still trained on her, so she knew he must be giving her the most exasperated of looks right now; she saw that his hands were twitching violently at his sides, a signal of his brain short-circuiting.

Now that she thought about, she noticed _way_ too many things about him. Every sigh was a signpost to his moods, every tilt of his tin can, a huff, a laugh, an exaggerated shrug. She had become trained to read his moods on sight alone.

After a few awkward beats of silence, Din’s shoulders bristled. “Well, don’t let the Child find it. It’s not a toy.”

Cara went back to feeding the kid, pretending the piece of dried meat was a spaceship coming in for landing. “Well, it is for mama,” she huffed under her breath.

Din’s boots scrapped on the floor. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” she called sweetly over her shoulder.

His footsteps echoed quite loudly in the hull as he stomped away. Cara blew a raspberry right onto the kid’s wrinkled forehead, who was luckily more interested in the food right now, than the toy. “Maybe your dad needs one of those toys too, huh?”

Cara’s face absolutely did _not_ blossom with color at that thought.

* * *

Lucky for her, they never brought it up again.

And it quickly faded into the category of things Cara was titling Weird Things Din Does. There were other things in that category, for example: No Droids Allowed a.k.a. Din’s hatred of droids. That featured most prominently. Recently, he nearly shot one when it accidentally rolled over his toe. She had to talk him down from that.

Another thing on that list was The Silent Treatment. Sometimes during one of his moods – and they were colorful and varied – he would forgo speaking to her at all. One time he didn’t speak to her for two whole days after he caught her singing a lullaby from Alderaan to put the kid to sleep. It was something she remembered her mother used to sing, can he _kriffing_ blame her?!

There was that weird thing which was how he obtusely took all of his meals in isolation. Ok, ok. Helmet. Duh. But Cara wanted a drinking buddy. She had offered him all these options– curtains, blindfolds – “I’ll turn around, I won’t even peek!” – to avail. His only reply was: “Cara, you should drink less.”

Another popular one was No Physical Contact. There were many occasions on which the brush of their hands, a passing elbow, or really any time she’d squeeze past him, would make Din flinch into the next lightyear. This was new, and it meant they hadn’t had a good arm-wrestling match in ages! Once, her foot slipped off the ladder (and she hadn’t even been drinking!), and she fell into him, nearly knocking her head against his beskar. He’d caught her effortlessly, but then just froze in place for all of a few loud breaths. “Thanks, tinhead,” she said, recovering. His large hands were splayed on her ribcage, and – really when was the last time someone had their hands on her like that? – his thumbs just barely skimming her breasts. Then he released her so abruptly you’d think his gloves caught fire, and he quickly stormed away, mumbling something through a clenched jaw.

Oh, let’s not forget his absolute nightmare of a cleaning schedule – polishing his beskar at every free moment. Once, taking pity on him, she had picked up a rag, kicked up her feet and sat with him, scrubbing one of his loose pauldrons until it shone like new. She caught him giving her what could only be described as an odd look, but he bent his head, pretending he hadn’t been staring at her. Cara knew better. They silently did their tasks in what turned out to be a rare moment of peace aboard an otherwise generally chaotic ship.

Enough said. Living in close quarters on the Razor Crest was getting to her, and she practically giggled out loud with glee when Din said they were going to spend the night in rented rooms while they waited for a contact to show up. They were still searching for the kid’s home planet, and his people, and any piece of information they could find would be a win for them.

She had been happily running security for Greef Karga on Nevarro for a few relatively calm months, clearing out any leftover Imps. She was shocked when a familiar beskar clad idiot with one green child strolled into the cantina and offered her a job as backup on a mission. Karga had intervened, threatening Djarin with all kinds of extra fees because he was taking away his best muscle.

And she had agreed, but that was months ago. The cramped quarters, and the constant vigilance of babysitting, and all Din’s dumb rules – needless to say girl was itching to a night by herself! Just her, a steep glass of Corellian red, and that glorious toy she kept having to hide from Din.

“You hoping he’s going to give you some info?” She asked Din about the clandestine meeting he was going to, as she watched him pilot the Crest into the hangar bay.

It had become one of her favorite pastimes lately, watching him fly. He was just so in control, calm and collected; it was almost soothing watching him navigate. He was a natural. He’d never commented on it – her joining him, so she assumed it wasn’t “against the rules.”

“He said he could help. It’s the first solid lead we have.”

Once he docked, he handed her a data pad. “You take care of the supplies. I’ll take care of the rooms.”

“Really?”

Oh, that was another thing on Cara’s list of Weird Things Din Does, he was absolutely tyrannical about getting the groceries and supplies himself, and never took Cara’s offers of help. Instead, forcing her to stay on board to watch the kid while he went planet-side. It always bummed her out. But, hey, the kid wasn’t so bad.

So, it was with extra pride that she took the data pad.

Din passed her some credits too. “Don’t spend it all on booze.”

She gave him a playful wink and nudged her elbow at him. “You know me.”

His helmet cocked in such a way she _knew_ he was rolling his eyes at her.

* * *

So, with the little bugger strapped to his chest and with the rifle clipped over his shoulder, Din was ready.

Cara tilted her head, her eyebrows raising dangerously close to her hairline. Whoa, he looked...he looked… She’d say menacing – what with the rifle and in all that armor, but with the kid giggling in his sling and Din petting his belly all fondly, saying something too soft for her to hear, it seemed a reason to pause. Something twisted like a corkscrew in her stomach, hot and fluttery all at the same time.

“One more thing, Cara,” he said, looking up at her.

“Hm?” She really hoped her face wasn’t red.

“If you can find a meiloorun fruit. The kid likes it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, turning away.

Checking that they were off the ship, Cara grabbed her vibrator out of her hiding place and slipped it into her overnight bag.

* * *

Supply run done, she headed to the cantina. Din might have specified that she couldn’t spend _all_ the credits on booze, but that meant that she could spend _some_. And in the rare moment not being on kid-duty, that was enough encouragement for Cara.

Besides, she had gotten some great deals, she was _saving_ them money for kriff’s sake. Din should make her in charge of grocery shopping all the time!

Half the money belonged to her anyway. They’d split the bounty, when, low on cash, they took a job a few weeks that that involved turning in some crime syndicate boss. That side gig had been fun; Din even let her use his Amban pulse rifle again. Granted, it had gotten a little hairy. The bounty, not wanting to get caught, had hired extra cronies to surprise attack Din, and zealously in their fight tried to unhelmet him. She had to vaporize a few of them to get him out safely. She had saved his life, spared him the dishonor, and all she got in return was a single, stone-faced nod.

Add that to Weird Things Din Does: always-almost-getting-killed.

“What can I get you, miss?” Said the droid behind the bar top at the cantina.

“Surprise me!” She threw down some credits.

“My analytics tell me your body temperature is running warm, perhaps something cold?”

Cara puffed her cheeks, forced air through her mouth. It was a warm planet, and she was sweating, the material of her shirt already sticking to her back. Iced would be great. Her mouth practically watered at the thought.

She leaned into the bar top, “Are you flirting with me?” she said.

“I am a droid. I cannot flirt.”

“I’ll take anything at this point,” she muttered under her breath, casting a curious eye over the other patrons of the cantina.

“May I offer you a compliment?” The droid said in his mechanical voice, making her iced drink.

“Go ahead,” she smirked.

“Your facial structure is very symmetrical, and your body metrics are highly proportionate.” He slid the ice-cold drink across the bar.

Cara laughed and snorted. “Oh, Din would get a kick out of you.”

“I do not know this Din,” said the droid.

Cara threw her head back and laughed some more.

* * *

She’d been a happily scrolling through the data pad, sipping on her second ice-cold drink when a smooth voice chimed in over her shoulder, with “Can I buy your next round?”

She turned her head just a fraction. It was a human male, tall and broad shouldered. Say no more. Cara quirked her flirtiest look at him. “What’s in it for me?”

The man chuckled, but confidently took the seat next to her all the same. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo on a very tan, very acceptable bicep.

“It’d be my pleasure to buy for another veteran.”

She didn’t even realize it, but she licked her lips.

“Another drop solider?” She turned her body towards him. “What brings you out here?"

“Gig economy. Looking for work where I can. You?”

Cara was used to withholding certain details of her life. So, she only nodded sympathetically. “Same.”

“I’m Brock,” he said.

“Cara.” They shook hands. “I have a question. It’s a weird one.”

“Shoot. I can handle weird, soldier,” said Brock. He had very kind eyes, and he kept them trained on her, flashing briefly to look at her lips when she spoke. It sent her stomach into one of those twisting, fluttering back-flips.

“How do you feel about droids?”

* * *

Brock was very entertaining. And didn’t seem to mind droids. Plus, he kept buying drinks. They swapped a few war stories. She even shared some of her dirtiest jokes, and he had the sweetest of laughs – a real belly one, not at all like Din’s wheezy little chuckles. They were on to round number four – er, maybe it was five – when he leaned dangerously close to her and tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ears, grazed the tattoo on her cheek with this thumb.

Any other version of herself would be dropping her panties right about now in response to Brock flashing some serious bedroom eyes. Cara looked down at her (fourth? Fifth?) drink in her hand and gave a low sigh.

“You know,” she said. “I actually just remembered I’m supposed to be meeting my friend.”

“Oh?"

“And he’s very nervous. Frantic actually. And we’re taking care of this chil – Pet! This pet. Together. And I just remembered I’m supposed to go feed him – the pet, not my friend. Like now. So, um….yeah.”

“Oh?” The disappointment was obvious on Brock’s face, but he covered it quickly. “Of course. You’re very loyal, to your – er, friend’s pet was it?” 

“Yeah. Thanks for understanding. But this was really fun. Like, really fun.”

She gave a fleeting look last look at his broad shoulders and his biceps. Oh, she was going to miss that. When she looked back at Brock’s handsome face it had gone immediately pale. He stiffened and backed away about three paces away from her.

“What – what’s wrong?”

But she could already guess. There was a clink of what could only be described as beskar behind her. Her shoulders slumped. Ruining everything! She turned, and sure enough, the tinhead's timing was impeccable. She was about to tell him so with an annoyed slap on his beskar, but her hand stilled because even in her tipsy state she could _feel_ the waves of fury – hot and stinging – radiating off him.

“Hey, Mando! I was just gonna go looking for you,” she said.

Beside her Brock sputtered in disbelief. “You failed to mention your friend was a Mandalorian.”

“Oh, didn’t I?”

Brock threw some credits down on the table. “Hey man, no trouble. Next one’s on me. Nice to meet you Cara.”

“Bye Brock,” she said weakly, watching her one chance – her one score for the night - run, tripping out of the establishment. She whipped around to face Din. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even said anything, just stood there with one hand still resting on his hip near his blaster. The kid, strapped to his chest, looking at Cara softly, ears perky.

“We need to work on your people skills,” she said, none too gently.

“I told you not to spend all our credits on booze.”

“I didn’t! Brock here was nice enough to pay for a few rounds. And he liked my dirty jokes, so I think the real problem here is your lack of any sense of humor.”

Din wasn’t listening. “Did you get everything on the list?”

“I did, even the meiloorun. And I got a deal!” Taking in his stiff form again, she added: “What crawled up your ass and died?”

He visibly flinched. “The contact didn’t show.”

Cara’s shoulders slumped. She was hit with a wave of disappointment so strong it practically sobered her – practically. All that intel, and time, for nothing. Another dead end.

“I’m sorry, Din.” Her face flushed with embarrassment. Here, she was flirting up a storm and the kid was no closer to being returned to his parents. “Truly I am.”

She put her hand atop his, the one resting on the bar. He didn’t pull away as she thought he would, and so just held it, squeezed as if she could convey all her apologies to him, and all the optimism she could spare. Din’s helmet slanted just an inch to look at their hands.

“It’s always one step forward, two steps back,” she said. “Maybe he’ll show tomorrow?” she added hopefully, squeezing his hand again.

Din’s shoulders relaxed by barely a fraction. But she’d take it as a victory. He sighed heavily. Good, she cataloged that one. Not an angry sigh, so he wasn’t mad at her, just…dejected. The Child gave a loud yawn, and it melted Cara just a little.

“Big day for you too, huh, kid?” she said, and bopped his nose. He made a sleepy coo, eyes dropping.

“May I offer you an iced drink, sir,” said the mechanical voice of the bartender droid. Cara held her breath. “My analytics tell me your body temperature is overheating.”

Din literally snarled in the droid’s direction and gruffly pulled his hand away from Cara’s. Ah, there was the Din she knew!

* * *

Well this made for an interesting addition to Cara’s evening.

“I swear I asked for two rooms,” said a very stupefied Mandalorian beside her. They were staring at their accommodations for the night. Accommodation. Singular. As in one room.

At least there were two beds.

Cara’s mouth opened and closed, gaping like a Spetan channel fish. She shook her head and recovered quickly, clapping him in the beskar pauldron, but not hard enough to jostle the now-sleeping Child on Din’s chest.

“That’s why you do the groceries and I find the rooms.”

“I’ll go fix it.”

She moved to claim the bunk by the window. “Don’t be silly! It’s just one night. It’ll be like a slumber party.” That alcohol was making her very chatty. “I’m just sorry I brought my ion battery-powered friend for nothing.”

Din doubled over in a coughing fit. And that started a whole thing, because then the kid was very unhappy at being woken, and it took them forever to get him back to sleep.

* * *

Cara woke in the middle of the night to something sharp poking in her back. She had noticed it vaguely when she drifted off to sleep, but now it was definitely making itself known. She shifted, moving to another part of the bed, but then that made things worse, so she kicked the blankets around to cushion it. There was a dull ache in her head from all the alcohol she had drunk and that wasn’t going away either, so she flopped her head into the pillow. Maybe if she banged her head against the wall that would help?

“Stop moving.” Din’s voice, crystal clear, came from the other side of the room.

It was pitch black still. Late, or maybe really early.

She sighed dramatically. “There’s something poking me. These mattresses are terrible!”

“Mine’s fine.”

“Oh, rub it in Mando.”

He shushed her. Somewhere curled up in blankets, the kid was still snoozing. They could hear his soft little sighs.

Cara on the other hand didn’t feel sleep coming on so easily, so expressed another frustrated noise into the pillow.

“Not so loud,” he whispered.

“I keep thinking about your contact,” said Cara.

“Huh?”

“Why he didn’t show. You think maybe you were set up?”

Din was silent on his side of the room. The pillow was too stuffy and scratchy, so she rolled over onto her back again. Lights from the streets below came through the sorry excuse of a curtain on the windows, and Cara watched them, feeling very wide awake, while they changed color: green to red, to blue, and back to green.

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t sit right with me about all this,” she admitted.

“It’s possible,” said Din, a little too diplomatically. “No way of knowing now.”

“Yeah, I guess. But your contact went so out of his way to get in touch, and then he doesn’t show? I don’t know it still seems – oh! Ow!”

“Cara, shush!”

She pouted, rubbed her side, by her underarm. “This mattress just poked me in the tit!”

Din snorted, said something like a very elaborate curse under his breath. “Get over here.”

“Wh-what?”

It’s possible she may have misheard him.

“My bed’s fine, just come over here. As long as you stop talking.” She heard him shuffle over, lift his blankets.

“You sure?”

“Before I change my mind, Dune.”

Without a word, she got out of her very uncomfortable bed and padded over to Din’s side of the room, dragging her own pillow. It wasn’t any more pleasant than her bed, but at least there wasn’t anything sticking out of the mattress. She lay on her back, hands laced on her sternum.

“I won’t touch you. I know your dumb rules,” she said.

Alongside her, she could hear Din’s breathing hesitate through the vocoder, the unmistakable rustling of beskar on a scratchy pillow as he turned his head towards her. “What rules?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“Look, I’m sorry you didn’t get your own room. And that now you have to sleep with that tin can on.”

“I’m used to it,” he deadpanned.

It took her a second, but she realized he was joking. She snorted a puff of air through her nose, smothered her own rising laugh; he gave an accompanying amusing sound.

“Quiet, Cara!” But she could tell he was smiling.

It tickled her, his little attempts at humor. She couldn’t help but grin in the darkness of the room.

“You’re just sorry you don’t get to use your little…you know, your _toy_.”

“You can just say vibrator, Din, I’m not a blushing virgin.” Her smile broadened.

He scoffed. “And now you won’t be able to use it while we’re back on the Crest.”

“Pfft, who says I don’t use it on the Crest?” Cara jeered.

“Cara – what?”

“I’m just kidding, I mean…obviously.” Her eyes shifted side to side, grateful that the darkness was hiding her blush. “Obviously.”

What followed was a tense pause.

“Wait, you use –” He was practically squawking, she had to shush him for once.

“What? Just once or twice!”

“Once or –! ” In his indignation, Din sat up so quickly, the whole bed jostled.

Cara stayed very calm despite the absolute hilarity of this situation and Din’s typically outrageous reaction. She hadn’t exactly meant to tell him in this manner, if she was considering telling him at all.

“It was the dead of night. Don’t be like that, the kid was clearly asleep, locked in his bunk. You were out cold to the world. I could hear you from the other side of the wall, snoring like a bantha in heat –“

A warm hand clamped over her mouth.

Her body froze. Din had rolled over in his haste to silence her and was iron-hot all along her front. The faint outline of his helmet hovered over her, reflecting the subdued lights coming in through the window – green, to red, to blue, and back to green again.

“You really use that mouth too much,” he said, keeping his voice in a low whisper.

There was an edge of something else to his voice, and it made her breath come out all shaky through her nose. But then again, there was always an edge when it came to Din Djarin. Many, many sharp edges.

“I said you can share the bed as long as you don’t talk.” He pressed his hand down a little firmer over her mouth, as if for emphasis.

Mute, she could only nod, and only then very faintly.

He removed his hand. The skin around her mouth tingled with the loss of warmth.

“Go to sleep, Cara,” he said, rolling back over.

She curled over to one side, sliding one arm under her pillow to cushion her head. “Goodnight, Din,” she said, much quieter, and she heard his responding exhale.

Eventually, she fell asleep. It would have happened a lot quicker had she not been running one tiny innocuous detail over and over in her mind: he'd removed his gloves.

* * *

Cara counted about five or six. Din’s count was already up to eight.

“Where’s eight? I don’t see eight.”

“Rooftop, they’ve got snipers.”

Oh yeah. Sure enough, the tell-tale white armor of infantry level Stormtroopers– two more, a possible third on a roof top across the street.

Cara and Din moved away from the window.

“How long they’ve been here?” she asked him.

“Probably early this morning. I bet they got tipped off late last night.” Din’s sigh was a displeased one. “You were right, Cara.”

“Your contact tipped off some Imps,” she confirmed, repeating her misgivings from the previous night.

This was turning out to be a hell of a morning. First, Cara woke willing to put the whole strange bed-sharing phenomena of last night into a dream. Second, Din was already up when she opened her eyes, not a touch of armor – or glove – out of place, even the Child was all strapped in, alert to the situation.

Din was also palpably vibrating with nervous energy. He had spotted some Imps on his way to get food for the kid – given his very unsubtle armor and even less subtle green-baby, he hightailed back to the room to relay the bad news.

“What’s the plan?” she asked, already itching for a fight.

“The plan is we get back to the ship, undetected.”

“You don’t wanna blow up some Imp butt?”

“I can’t take that kinda heat again, Cara, it’s too risky. Better for us to just slip out undetected. We can deal with a fallout later.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Din, but we’re in the fallout – this is the Fallout,” she gestured to the ever-growing number of Imps out the window. “Someone with Imperial resources knows you’re here.”

Din went silent. Which was never a good sign. His shoulders sagged pathetically.

“This is my fault,” he said, suddenly all soft and dejected. “I wasn’t thinking. I put you and the kid at unnecessary risk. I should have screened the contact before I agreed to meet him. I was just –”

“Hey, hey! I get it,” said Cara, putting her hand on his arm sympathetically. He didn’t flinch, in fact, he seemed to lean into it.

“I just wanted a win, you know,” he said. Cara could read the look of utter regret behind the helmet as he petted the kid’s ears. “I thought we’d finally have something.”

The kid gave a small little sound, looking up at Din as if understanding his guilt and reassuring him. They looked so deeply at each other, and Cara felt, not for the first time, like a third wheel in their little family, their clan of two.

Then Din gave a shake, and changed gears, he handed her his pulse rifle, voice tightening. “There’s an exit out the back of the building. We can sneak out that way to get to the Crest.”

Din shifted the Child to his back, so he hid under his cape. The kid made a few distressing noises, but Cara was able to hush him with some comforting words as they left their room. Down the hall, two Stormtroopers were pounding on doors at the inn, waking up the patrons – they were already conducting searches. Her count bumped up to ten.

The moved quickly, Cara at his heels, as they slipped out of their room, and down the hall away from the troopers. A “Hey you there!” shouted from behind, and they quickened their pace.

“Stop them!”

Loud blaster fire seared past them as they ran. Cara felt the heat as one slid by her face. She turned and shot back with her blaster, knocking at least one down. But two more Troopers appeared at the other end of the hall ahead of them and started shooting too. Din kicked the exit door in, gesturing for Cara to go through, while he shot at the troopers gaining ground. They were coming too close, so Din raised his arm and Cara heard the telltale sound of fire shooting out of his vambrace cannon. She raced down the stairs, the screams from the fires above the only thing chasing them.

There was only one guard stationed at the rear entrance.

“Excuse me,” said Cara, tapping it on the shoulder. “There’s a fire emergency upstairs.” Then she kicked it in the groin, spun the rifle to knock its helmet with the butt end as hard she could. The Trooper sprawled unconscious on the ground.

An Imperial transport was parked at one end of the street, so they ducked, turning on their heels and into a side alleyway, only pausing to hide behind a dumpster as a few Troopers marched past them.

Cara’s count was at sixteen now.

“Hey,” said Din, bringing her out of her head. “If this gets bad, you know what to do.”

Cara gave him a disbelieving look. “You’re kidding, right?”

“If something happens – if something –” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. Nothing’s happened yet, tinhead.”

“I just want to be clear on the plans!” He said, desperation bleeding through.

Cara scoffed. “I don’t even know how to fly your damn ship.”

Din had the nerve to laugh a bit. “Yes, you do,” he said. “Yes. You do. You’re always watching me fly. You’ve got this!”

She shot him her most pleading look. “You can drop the subject, Djarin, I’m not leaving you,” she said cocking the rifle, so it slotted comfortably against her shoulder, checked the ammo.

Another two Stormtroopers went by heading towards where they had just left. They pressed themselves into the wall, hoping the shadows covered them. Din checked the fuel gages on his vambraces, sheathed his blaster; he turned back to Cara, moving the sling around his torso so the kid was facing the front. He started to unbuckle it.

“The hangar is just on the other side of the bazaar. You go first with the kid and get the ship ready. I’ll meet you when I can.”

“Din, stop it!”

“You have to leave Cara. Take the kid and go. I’ll cover you. The beskar will protect me.”

He didn’t even bother handing her the kid like a _normal_ _person_ , just started buckling the sling directly onto her torso. She looked distressingly down at the kid – the look of confusion and tension on his baby face nearly made her burst into tears.

“No!” She’s stubborn. Always has been.

But, so is he. Din has her arms around her, hands shaking and trembling as he tightened and adjusted the sling’s straps. “Cara! Don’t argue with me. Leave now!”

“I’m not doing that again!” She wanted to scream it, but that would give their position away. Instead, she held onto his sleeves so tightly her knuckles hurt. “I’ve already seen you nearly die enough times. I'm not-”

Her jaw was clenched, and she blinked back tears remembering the battle on Nevarro with certain clarity – how he had begged her for a warrior’s death. They were safest when the two of them were on the same page, of the same mind. Why was he being so damn obstinate?

Din finished with the straps; the kid now nestled snugly on her chest. He stood unmoving before her, only his shoulders heaving with each intake of breath. She bared her teeth at him.

“It’s not happening again! Do you hear me? I’m not leaving you! So get that through your thick skull.”

Gloved hands cradled her face with such gentleness that if Cara wasn’t so angry with this stupid, stupid man, she might have been more shocked. His thumb trailed over her mouth, dragged at her lower lip; fingers making a hot brand-like imprint on her jaw; she smelled the faint mix of leather and sweat, fire and fuel.

“Ok,” he said, after a beat, voice cracking. “Ok.”

* * *

When the coast was clear, they moved from behind the dumpster and towards the bazaar, which was deserted. Cara could just see the beginnings of the port, to the hangar bay, and beyond the Crest. Checking they weren’t being followed, Cara rounded a stall in the bazaar and nearly body-slammed directly into someone. She aimed her blaster, ready to shoot, but then recognized the tall, broad shoulders.

“Brock!”

It was indeed. Cantina guy!

He seemed stunned to see her too, especially with the green alien baby strapped to her tits.

Beside her, Din was wary. “Cara, let’s go!”

“Brock, you have to get out of here, this place is crawling with Imps. If they know you’re ex-Republic, you’re screwed.”

But Brock wasn’t listening. Just kept looking between her, the baby, and Din.

“Do you hear me, soldier? You have to get out of here.”

And then the worst possible thing happened: Brock pulled out his blaster, aimed it right at her – no, at the kid strapped to her! Cara’s jaw dropped. Din’s blaster was already pointing at Brock’s head.

“I’m sorry, Cara,” said Brock, looking rather smugly at her, and not at all sorry, moving closer to her and the kid.

“Really, Brock! Really?!” She felt like the ground had shifted rapidly beneath her feet and left her reeling.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Din, steady as ever, keeping his blaster trained on Brock.

“Put it away, Mandalorian. Or I shoot the pet and your girlfriend too!”

“Don’t do it Mando,” Cara said to Din out of the corner of her mouth.

“Obviously,” Din hissed back.

“Over here!” Brock shouted, then whistled loudly. Cara held her breath, stomach plummeting. Four, five, no six more Stormtroopers, Cara counted, came running forward with heavy machine guns. She brought her hands up to wrap protectively around the kid, who mewled most worrisomely, ears flattened.

Reluctantly, seeing they were now surrounded, Din lowered his blaster only slightly.

“It’s nothing personal,” Brock continued, his own blaster still leveled. “It’s just business. And right now, Imperials are the highest paying gig in town. You won’t believe what they pay for information. Especially regarding a Mandalorian and a certain…pet, is it?”

Cara wanted to throw something at his too-handsome face. “To think, here I thought you wanted to have _sex_ with me.”

Brock scoffed, face contorting with ire. “More like you _wanted_ to have sex with _me_.”

Cara forced hot air out of her mouth. “That is not how that interaction went down at all. You were totally trying to hit that! Failed by the way.”

“Please,” Brock huffed, all too cockily. “You were practically begging for me to have sex with you.”

“Pfft. As if, Imp!”

Din was looking at her quizzically – she could read it easily from the angle of his shoulders, how he kept turning his head to look at her and then at Brock, and then back to her. She felt her face go hot.

“Can’t believe you’d betray the Republic like this.”

The Stormtroopers were moving in a little closer. Cara kept taking slow steps backwards, away from Brock.

“And where is the New Republic, Cara? Do you see them?” Brock gestured dramatically, sweeping his arms around, as if to demonstrate his point. “What did we do, spending all that time fighting their war? And for nothing! No, they betrayed us.”

“Don’t do this Brock, don’t do this.” She shook her head at him.

“Enough!” His voice boomed and he raised his blaster again. “Hand over the pet!”

The rifle was currently strapped to her back, otherwise, she would have happily vaporized him, so she opted for giving him her cruelest death stare.

But then the weirdest thing happened – Brock started floating.

At first, it was to Cara’s utter confusion – she was like, whoa, didn’t know I could do that with my _eyes_ – and then, it hit her. The kid! Oh duh, the kid! The powers!

She looked down and sure enough one little claw was raised; eyes screwed shut in concentration.

“What’s happening?!” Brock yelped, kicking and flailing his arms and legs as he floated higher and higher. “What’s happening?”

The Stormtroopers surrounding all stared in abject horror, frozen to their spots as Brock was lifted, pulled by invisible strings. And nobody could figure out how or why. So, Din and Cara had their opening; they nodded at each other.

One-handed, Cara freed the rifle from its strap on her shoulder and tazed the Stormtrooper closest to her while Din took out one on his flank. And then, because Brock was still floating, while shouting directions to the dumbfounded Stormtroopers, Cara tazed another one, just for good measure.

The kid made a cry and collapsed in his sling. Brock landed in a shocked heap on the ground. She patted his belly, proudly, checking that he was still breathing – he was, even blinked a little wearily at her. Relief flooded her. And then Stormtroopers started shooting, so she got one of them through the scope and vaporized it. Damn, this was a sexy rifle.

Then it was the usual chaos and Cara’s mind was never sharper than in battle. While Din blasted off two or more Stormtroopers, they ran, moving in sync, ducking for cover behind a vendor’s stall in the bazaar.

She counted they had taken out at least six in the bazaar itself, but the blaster fire had alerted a few surrounding Troopers nearby and they started streaming in. Not to mention Brock was still out there.

“Need some ammo!”

“Help yourself.”

She took a cartridge from his bandolier. They spotted a Stormtrooper running for their position, reeling his arm back as if about to throw a grenade.

“Head’s up!” She called to warn Din, while she tried to reload as quickly as possible, wanting to shoot before the grenade was thrown. But when she looked back up that Stormtrooper was doubled over, and already falling to the ground – Cara’s mouth fell open – with Din’s vibroblade sticking out of its chest plate. The grenade rolled out of its hand and went off, throwing dirt, dust and a few Stormtroopers up into the air.

“Thanks,” she said, while they crouched.

Din only shrugged one shoulder at her, sitting up to fire off another round at more incoming fire. A blaster shot ricocheted off his beskar chest plate and then a second hit his shoulder pauldron. Cara got there first, disintegrating the Trooper before their eyes.

Din nodded his thanks right back at her.

She said ‘you’re welcome, now go blow up some Imp butt’ by simply quirking her eyebrows at him in a complicated dance. Or at least, she hoped he got that message, it seemed like maybe that went over his head. Since he was too busy staring at the path her hand made as she helped herself to another cartridge, this time from his utility belt.

Guess she needed to work on her non-verbal communication skills.

Wood from the bazaar stall scattered into a gazillion pieces, raining down on their cover spot as blaster fire erupted around them. Cara held her arms above the kid’s head, protecting him from the worst of it and more shots soared overhead.

And so, nodding solemnly at each other, they sat up side by side, weapons ready.

Din took down two Imps at the same time via his grappling hook, giving them a send-off blast from his fire cannon. She took another Stormtrooper out with a hum and a flash of light, reloading with another few cartridges stolen from Din’s belt and bandolier.

“Let’s head to the ship!” He yelled, while shooting a Trooper with his blaster. She agreed and they moved out of their cover.

Din recovered his vibroblade, wiping it clean on his pant leg, and they took off running, throwing shots from their blasters over their shoulders every so often.

The large cargo doors were already opening with a few clicks from Din’s vambraces, and the two of them shot up the ramp, diving for cover. While Din scrambled up the ladder, Cara positioned herself by the door, finding Stormtroopers in her scope and she vaporized a few before the rest scattered.

The Razor Crest wobbled and then lifted up into the air. Cara held on, seeing Brock running after the ship, firing his blaster. But the Crest picked up some dust and Brock, skidded to a halt, ducking his head. The firing ceased. When he could lift his head again, he saw her swinging the rifle across the back of her shoulders, elbows slung over it, cocking her hip out – casual as ever. A smirk curled on her lips, with a wide-eyed small, green _thing_ strapped to her chest, blinking down at the scene.

“It’s nothing personal,” she yelled down to him.

Brock could only gape at her. She blew him a kiss just before the heavy doors closed.

* * *

Neither relaxed until they were in hyperspace. Cara sat in the co-pilot’s chair behind Din, content to just zone out to the lights out the viewport for a while. Beneath her chin the kid was babbling incoherently. At least someone was in a good mood. She fed him as soon as they got into the cockpit, and he was happily munching on some dried meat, holding one of Cara’s fingers in a death-grip, talking animatedly to her.

“Yeah, kid, you said it,” she told him, waggling her finger in his hand. It could have been her imagination, but it curled tighter.

It felt good to be back in the Crest, like they were ready to fall into their usual routine. She was tired, a little dirty, ready for a coffee or something stronger – was it too early to drink?

Din unscrewed the silver knob from his console and spun his chair around to face the two of them so Cara could get her finger back.

“I’m sorry about Brock,” he said, tactfully.

Cara harrumphed. “Pfft, I’m not. Any idiot who decides to double cross you and the kid gets what he deserves, far as I’m concerned.”

Din hummed in approval, nodded. “And you,” he added.

The Child was playing with the silver knob, making little contented chirping noises, and it cut straight through Cara. Exhausted as she was, she couldn’t help but smile down at him. “Hm?”

“Double crossed the kid, me,” Din said, weirdly being all gentle, “and you.”

“Yeah. I guess.” She shrugged, heaved an exhale that tickled the tiny hairs on the kid’s head; he gurgled over his toy, perking to crane his head to look at her upside down.

Cara felt a pang of something but was too out of sorts – still coming down from that adrenaline rush – to properly place it. “I wasn’t really going to have sex with him.” It came out more sheepish than she meant. “With Brock. He was just saying all that.”

Din didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “I know,” he said.

But Cara felt that maybe she wasn’t explaining herself well enough, she wanted to add more to correct the record. They sat in silence for a little bit, while she mulled over what to say next, her leg bouncing in impatience.

Din scooted forward. “Let’s get this off you.”

“Right. It’s not like he’s that heavy.”

Din was very respectful, careful even, as he unstrapped the sling from her torso. The silver-blue lights of hyperspace diffused around Din’s armor, having the effect of blunting his many sharp edges.

“It’s not like I care what Brock said,” Cara explained. “About me wanting to sleep with him. I mean, I don’t care what a couple of Imps think about me. I don’t care what anyone thinks about me,” she shot off. “Din, I…”

“Wait, Cara,” he interrupted her. “Let me put the baby down.”

“Right, yeah. Of course.”

She sunk back down in the seat, despite it all, she still felt a weight pressing into her chest. Din placed the Child down in a repurposed crate, which was buckled to the third chair; then sat facing her again, releasing a series of sighs saturated with – here Cara started – with melancholy.

“I know,” he said.

“You know?” She balked.

He put his hand up as if to silence her, then continued, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “This has all convinced me. You’ve been through enough. _I’ve_ put you through enough, and you don’t deserve it. So that’s why I’ve already plotted a course for Nevarro. I’m taking you back.”

Cara sat upright. “What!”

Already plotted a course! They were already in hyperspace, which meant that he had kept the coordinates ready before they even took off from that planet – so he’d been planning this!

“I should have done this sooner. I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to keep you all these months.”

Cara’s head spun. She shook it, trying to clear it. “Selfish! Din, what?”

“You didn’t ask for any of this and you’ve done more than your fair share. I’m grateful for it. But chasing down some secret group of sorcerers, the kid’s home world, his people – you didn’t sign up for this, I know. Today has been my fault.”

“Din, wait. First off,” she said, still reeling in her shock, “you are the _least_ selfish person I’ve ever met. So full stop there. Secondly, while I do appreciate you bringing me back to Nevarro – and granted Karga does pay me better than you do, no offense. I haven’t thought of going back for months. Has it even occurred to you that I might even _like_ being here?”

That all seemed to shut him up. He hung his head, hands fidgeting so much that Cara actually reached forward to still them.

“So, your contact was a red herring,” she said. “But I let a stranger with broad shoulders ply me with drinks and then sell us out to Imperials. Can we both admit we’re at fault here?

“I don’t want to mess this up again, so don’t take me back to Nevarro. I want to be here. Because, yeah, Din I may not care what other people think of me, but I _do_ care what you think of me.”

And then, for the first time in all their friendship, she couldn’t read him.

“Cara,” he said her name like it was an admonishment.

“Din, I care about you. I care about you so much it terrifies me. I want to be here. Not just that, I – I want…”

Of all fights she picked across the whole galaxy, Cara Dune never thought the hardest one would be with herself. She gazed with no fear right into where she knew his eyes were, behind the visor.

“I want you,” she said.

Her words charged the air between them with energy.

“Cara, I can’t,” he said, his body very still. “I can’t offer you anything.”

“I don’t remember asking you to,” she said, then winced. It came out too sassy, too sarcastically. “Just for one second, can you not be so stubborn!” Tears burned behind her eyes, and she blinked them away. “Do you? Want me? Do you want me. Here?”

It was loaded with so much more.

“Cara,” he was almost pleading with her, shoulders sagging. “You deserve better.”

“I don’t want better,” she said, combative as always. “I want this. Just this.”

That earned her a small self-deprecating chuckle and a shake of beskar. “This isn’t very much.”

“It’s you, Din. It’s you,” she said, for once no longer sarcastic, and tears welled in her eyes, black and stormy. But she laughed despite herself, as if a great weight lifted off her, unburdening her. “And it’s everything.”

He cradled her face, and just like earlier it was with such gentleness so unfitting to one wearing so much armor; his hands slid along her jaw, tapped at the small tattoo on her cheek, and danced over the peak of her nose, the arch of her dark brows. Cara nuzzled back into them, smiling all the while. Hands that had wrought violence, that had killed even, touching so featherlight, and so – it struck her – achingly familiar.

“My helmet.”

But Cara kept smiling, bright and boisterous. “I don’t need to see your face to know who you are, tinhead!” She said touching his wrists. “Besides,” she softened, admiring the smooth beskar in the moving lights, “half the time I can already read you.”

And because they were already of the same mind, Din was nodding affirmatively to a question she didn’t even have to ask, and she’s impatiently ripping off her own gloves to get to it.

The sight of his bare hand made her breath all shaky, panting like she took off a lot more than a single glove, and Din – _Din_ , who was leaning towards her like a man in want of sustenance – gasped aloud when she brought her lips, cool against his warm palm in a kiss.

She looked at him over the ridge of his knuckles, her gaze piercing, heated; her lips planting more kisses on the inside of his hand. He nearly choked on her name, and Cara wanted to hear him say it like that for the rest of her life – all needy and breathless. What an _idiot_ she’s been, how had she not thought of this before? She’s about to suggest a change of venue, when something interrupted them.

It’s the distinct sound of a silver knob rolling across the floor of the cockpit and coming to rest at Din’s boots. They both look down to see the Child shuffling along after his toy. Oh. Right.

The kid, now noticing that the two – arguably – adults in the room are paying attention to him, chirped loudly and lifted his arms, wanting ‘up’. Din obliged, resting the green baby on his knee; Cara glides a finger around the shell of his large bat-like ear, and he blinked, tilted his head, and smiled so innocently. She’s inundated with so much affection it nearly overwhelms her.

“How do you feel about getting a babysitter?” said Din, bouncing the Child a bit.

Cara nodded enthusiastically. “Din, I don’t say this lightly when I say you are a kriffing genius.”

“Hey! Language!” He barked at her, but she can tell he’s hiding a smile under there.

“He’s a baby, he doesn’t understand!”

The baby only giggled and cooed.

* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *me with a bullhorn outside Disney HQ* GIVE DIN A BABY CARRYING SLING 2020


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally the smut we've all been waiting for!

At hangar bay 3-5, Mos Eisley, Cara sees four or five pit droids go scurrying out of the way as soon as the cargo doors opened, and Din’s armored form marched down the ramp. A small woman with wild-curly hair scurried forward brandishing a wrench.

“Oh no you don’t!” came her high-pitched shriek. “Scaring them half to death like that. That ain’t right. And don’t think I can’t see those dents from a parsec away. You haven’t had any buffing on that carbon scoring! Looks a mess.”

Din didn’t even let her finish off her list of about five other things she spotted on the Razor Crest when he was already shoving the cooing, happy baby in her hands.

“Can you watch him for a few hours?”

“I – oh?” Looking between Din’s awkward, almost pleading stance, and the wrinkled forehead and flapping ears of the Child, the woman blinked a few times. “Well, you know my rates. It’ll cost you.”

“Half now and half later,” agreed Din, handing over some credits.

Peli’s hands tightened on the Child, and something resembling fondness colored her features. “Thought he’d be bigger by now. Has he eaten?”

“He’s due for a meal soon. Here’s a bag of some of his favorite things. Also, there’s a small leak in the water filtration tank, so if you can find it…” Cara almost had to laugh at Din’s antics – nearly vibrating with tension – even Peli noticed it and the women shared a look of disbelief behind Din’s back.

“And no droids,” Din rounded off, underlining his preferences.

“I remember! No droids!” Peli nodded. She rocked the giggling baby in her arms. “What are you here for a job?”

But Din was already stomping away, so Cara stepped forward. “You could say that,” she said, with an evident smirk and a growing blush. “You’ll have to excuse his impoliteness.”

The other woman blew a wisp of her curly, untamed hair out of her face. “Mandalorians, right? The name’s Peli. Peli Motto.”

Din’s shout from halfway across the hangar startled the both of them. “Cara!”

“He said it,” said Cara. “That’s me. And that’s my cue.” She bopped the little one on his nose in a goodbye, and rolled her eyes at Peli, sharing their inside joke, and then had to run, huffing and puffing after Din.

* * *

Cara’s proud to say she picked the room this time. By the time they’re standing, looking at it and its one bed, it all seemed to hit him. He’s pacing up a storm, the picture of agitation, while she held in a disbelieving laugh.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” she finally said, after his fifth turnabout the room trying to be helpful. “It’s just me.”

“That’s exactly why!” He barked, then sighed, shaking his helmeted head. “I-I…”

“Hey, look,” she came over, physically preventing him from making his sixth turn. “So, it’s been a few months for me. Whatever.”

“Try years,” he snorted.

Cara shrugged. “Okay, so it’s been a few years…so what!”

The tilt in his helmet angled dramatically.

“Din,” she said, putting her hands on his chest plate. “Look we don’t have to _do_ anything. We can just…cuddle.”

It’s a whole new alluring idea for Cara, as she runs her hands over the metal of his cuirass. She realized she’d never felt the smooth, cool beskar before, nor admired the sheer craftsmanship of it beyond simple practicality. She found herself wondering suddenly what it would feel like under her cheek.

He made a sheepish huff and framed her face, threading his fingers into her hair around her nape, tugging her a little closer. She closed her eyes as his large hands massaged her earlobes, and then burrowed into a particularly stiff muscle at the base of her skull under her hairline. It’s the most sensual he’s ever been with her, beyond his too fleeting caresses of her face, and his grip is fueled by something other than tenderness, that it makes her mouth fall open in a ragged gasp.

“Cara,” he said, voice suddenly deep and husky. “I _want_ you.”

 _Oh_. Well.

“Anything,” she said. It’s a dark and dangerous proposition, and Cara realized with a flutter of something hot, that it’s one she’s willing to follow through.

Din, in typical Din fashion, is all action. So, she proceeded in a fashion he was well versed in.

“How ‘bout this?” she said, with a gleam in her eyes.

Din went sailing backwards, arms pinwheeling, and landed onto the soft bed, which bounced under him. His apparent expression of shock to Cara, the motivator of all this trouble, was quickly stifled and replaced by something else – something a little hungrier, Cara guessed – as she started undressing before him.

Sure, Cara Dune has undressed before many a lover, but somehow under Din’s gaze, it felt very different. She’d never had anyone pay her so much _attention_ before. With such naked adoration. Suddenly, she’s nervous, because it’s Din.

 _Din._ It sent her pulse quickening.

She kicked her boots and tore her gloves off first – without so much as breaking eye contact – and then it was the weapons belt, and her armored top, which she slipped over her head easily. By the time she was down to her black shirt, leggings, and socks, Din’s head was looking all over her, as if he couldn’t decide what to admire first or next.

“You good?” she asked, biting her lip. Because if this was going in the direction she was pushing, then they were damn well going to be on the same page about it.

Din’s legs parted wider, as if unconsciously and he nodded, once. Really not one for words this one. And his breath only quickened as Cara’s black shirt quickly joined the pile on the floor.

“Keep your eyes on me, tinhead.” She turned fully around, baring her back to him. Very, very slowly, conscious that Din was zeroed into her every move, she hooked her thumbs under the material of her green pants and pulled them off, shimmied them down her legs; while bending over slightly, she heard a gruff noise that faded into static behind her.

It filled her with such glee, knowing he was just a man after all.

“Still watching?” She turned her head a fraction, enough to show off the tattoo on her cheek in profile. Din made a weak sound, like a whine, which devolved into a full-on groan when she took her bra off. So. Progress there.

Shivering slightly, in naught but her panties, Cara made a brief pause to consider this situation. Brief, because as much as she liked foreplay, she really liked the ‘play’ part. And she could already feel the beads of wetness pooling, catching in her underpants – warm and tingling. She wanted his hands on her – like, yesterday.

She shuffled her feet backwards until she was bumping up against his knees.

“You wanna get this one for me?”

Din, clearly not willing to back down from a request with such a display as this, put his hands on her. And she had asked so nicely – by cupping her own breasts and looking at him over her shoulder, arching one dark brow.

The worn material of his leather gloves on her bare skin was not uncomfortable but foreign enough that it sent goosebumps down her body. Over her hips, and down her legs, and suddenly Cara’s underpants were pooled at her ankles; her arousal intensified as she turned to face him fully.

“Hi,” she teased, winking at him.

Din held her sides so delicately, it’s like he can’t believe she’s real, and not a phantom of his overworked mind. His hands quickly replaced her own on her breasts, cupping them, kneading them fondly – then with a gruff noise, he seized his gloves, ripping them off, then unclipping the gauntlets so they slid down his arms and fell clunkily to the ground. And then Cara’s gasping at the touch, the texture of his rough palm on her silky skin and hardened nub of her pink nipples. Din’s answering moan was delicious.

They get _some_ of his clothes and armor off; it’s unceremonious, for the two of them are feverish, nearly delirious with lust. They leave the helmet on and Cara wants to pat herself on the back for her newfound flexibility in manners concerning armor.

He’s lithe, more so than she thought, without the armor, certainly broad shouldered, but otherwise long and lean, with narrow hips; the muscles in his arms and torso – patchworked with scars, some old and some new – are sinuous, they rippled under bronzed skin. She followed the sparse patches of dark hair on his chest, leading a path down to his belly, before they disappear under the waistband of his breeches, and her eyes continue to the very noticeable tenting of his pants around his crotch. She wants nothing more than the time to admire him, but that’s something they don’t have right now, not with the urgency in which Din, too impatient to even finish undressing, just pressed her back onto the pillows, sliding his hands up her own legs – toned, also marked with bruises and scars – spreading them.

She hadn’t even been drinking but she feels a little woozy with the knowledge that they’re so _exposed_ to each other. Despite being effectively roommates for months on end, Cara had never seen so much skin.

But Cara’s not one for prudence or subtlety, so she’s just gawking at him while his hands – Cara could fill a holo-book with thoughts on those hands – are finding their way to the softest part of her inner thighs, hovering right over the already glistening lips of her pussy.

Eagerly, she tucked her hips just enough to rut into his hand, the tips of his fingers just barely slipped inside her, right past the velvet lips of her labia to a pearl of wetness beaded at her entrance – another invitation.

“Like this?” he offered, and he dragged his middle finger in and out.

Cara swallowed her moan, opting for a breathy, hitched “yeah.” Her eyes threaten to roll into the back of her head, as he does it again, sinking all the way to his knuckles, then pulls it out to wet the nub of her clit. Then her eyes really did roll back into her skull.

A sound that could only be described as pain came from the Mandalorian hovering over her, and there’s a sudden sturdy press on her face, a thumb dragging down over her mouth, pulling her lower lip open. Her tongue darted out to lick it.

“Put that _mouth_ of yours to good use,” Din said with a snarl that crackled with need. “Tell me, tell me – how it…”

Cara stuttered a moan and another hitch of her hips, as he added a second finger, stretching around him.

“Tell me.” His demand, louder, edged with rough greediness.

“Yes, like that. Perfect, yes,” she wheezed.

Idiot?! How had she not wanted this sooner?

He’s fluidly slipping his fingers in and out of her, first one and then two, and then one again, twisting and curling. As intense as this was for Cara, she realized with a jolt of pleasure that made her clench down on his digits, that this was probably about a hundred times more intense for Din – who kept himself covered, and in solitude for so long, that he was so starved for touch. The man hadn’t even shown his body, let alone his face, to anyone. For _years_.

“Yeah, Din, like that.” Her legs floated upward as if on their own accord, her toes curling, and she’s rocking her hips in short, clipped movements, almost thoughtlessly. With each lick of his fingers, she feels her skin is being lit from within, like teasing a flame.

“Stroke up, like –” but he’s already adjusting, and when she moaned, shameless and wrecked, she tried to stifle it in Din’s palm.

“Wanna hear it,” he said, words slurring. “Wanna hear you.”

The muscles of his wrist flexed while he worked his deft fingers deeper, stroked and rubbed at her clit, slowly losing all finesse. Cara nipped and whimpered into his hand on her face, encouraging every move.

He bent forward until his helmet rested on her belly, and Cara unleashed another round of moans at the sight of his hips humping the air, like it’s a promise of what’s to come.

She cupped her own breasts again, squeezing and kneading them, pinching her nipples, unable to contain the expression of pleasure on her own face, her mouth opening with each wordless cry. Din doesn’t let up, fixing unrelenting pressure on that one spot, that has Cara gasping and groaning, that one spot that…

Planting her heels, she drove a rhythm with her hips that sent her careening over the edge with a jagged cry; her juices rushing, squelching out of her while Din kept pumping her, knuckle deep. The sounds of it far filthier than her own dirty mind could ever conjure.

Cara collapsed back onto the bed, belly aflutter, breath ragged. She’s thrown an arm over to face to muffle her final cry and hadn’t even realized it until she’s begun spiraling down. Still warm and tingling, at least part of her lust is sated. She feels another, smaller peak of pleasure as Din’s hands move out of her and she gripes at the loss, but he’s rubbing wide circles with his palms on her belly, her ribcage, between the valley of her breasts. Peeking at him from under her elbow, she sees him perched between her legs, still very much aroused.

“I usually last much longer,” she said, still panting, and her blush blends right into the already red coloring on her face and neck.

Din’s answer makes her breathless all over again. “Can’t wait to see that.”

She’s already racing ahead, because _of course_ , they’re doing this again!

“Let’s get those off, yeah, partner,” she said, flicking the waistband of his breeches. She gives a sloppy half-wink because her nerve endings are still overstimulated, and she can’t really feel her face.

And Din’s chuckling, but obliging her request – and how come she’s never noticed his laugh is sexy? Like, all breathy and, and rumbly, and like, gravely.

His cock sprang free from his loosened breeches.

Cara’s jaw actually dropped.

“What?” Was Din’s breathless question – all sweet and shy, a flush spreading up his chest.

Because Cara has seen cock, even good ones, in her life, but good _Maker_ , this was extraordinary – it’s long like his body, veiny, and fully erect, its purple, wide, curving a little to the right, but Cara can handle that. She’s licking her lips at the glisten of precum on the tip of it, and, tufts of dark hair at the base of it, and his balls, tightly nestled, tucked underneath, and, and…

“Have you seriously been hiding _that_ under there this whole time?!”

He gave another of his usual breathy chuckles, and it drove Cara wild, like main line right to her clit, heat flaring all over her body, flooding her pussy. She clenched around air.

“Mando, I swear. If you don’t get inside me – Din, oh! I _swear_!”

A laugh of her own quickly evolved into a heady moan. Cara sat back on her elbows, widening her knees, while Din kicking off his breeches, crawled between them, one hand at the base of his glorious cock.

It’s inch by precious inch, and Cara thinks she might lose her damn mind before this whole thing is over. Din’s taking his time, already so patient with her; what’s another few agonizing seconds when he’s been dry for years? Cara’s sucking in air, filling her fists with bedsheet, biting her own lip more out of anticipation than anything else, and she hummed his name when she feels the bulbous tip slip in first.

She’s already so wet there’s no resistance as he edges closer, sinking deeper, and she sucks in breath after breath.

“Cara?”

“Mmmhmm – yeah. Keep going!”

He bottomed out, hips flush on the back of her thighs. The sob that came from her is so unfamiliar it’s like it’s been ripped right out of her throat.

Din wiped her sweaty brow. “Cara?” It’s worried, almost wounded.

She’s grimacing with both pleasure and pain.

“I can handle it,” she winced, tightening her knees on his torso, and he sunk, impossibly, a little deeper; she grunted, neck trembling with the strain, tucking her hips forward, feeling him fully seated into her. The wash of pleasure is so strong she nearly whites out.

She’s brought back by Din’s hands. They’re hungry, everywhere and all at once, cradling her face, smoothing the furrowed lines on her brow, dipping down her cheeks; she made a grab for his passing thumb, suckling it into her mouth, and it was Din’s turn to groan, a gritty desperate sound and she manages a strained laugh around his thumb.

“You – you –” It’s a desperate sound from a desperate man. And her name falls off his unseen lips, spoken like a prayer

He anchored his arms, positioning them high by her head. Moving slowly with sinful undulating rolls of his hips, pulling out and shoving back in with restrained motion and trembling effort.

Cara senses that it’s almost _too_ much for him, oversensitive in the best of ways– the wet, hallowed heat around his cock, every head-spinning drag and grind, the way her pussy tightly clings to him.

“Oh, I won’t last –“ he gulped down air, “long. I’m not gonna – Cara, I’m –”

She can only say his name, and he shivered, driving a forceful push into her. She arched clear off the bed.

“Don’t you dare stop!” She exclaimed, digging her heels, an insistent pressure on his backside, she rolled her hips right back.

From that point on it’s just the heated, vibrant sounds of their lovemaking, the lavish sounds of sex – grunts and wet sucks, skin slapping on skin, feverish breaths and wails of gratification, increasing by the second. Cara’s being cleaved in two, driven into so deep, like Din unveils, coaxes out the most hidden parts of her.

Cara keeps that thought, combined with the visual of Din’s cock pistoning in and out of her, streaked and glistening with the marks of their combined wetness. She watches enraptured, his girth vanishing into her, the rough edge of a grind against her mound; his fingers artlessly swiping a series of wide circles on her clit, and she’s teetering on the edge again.

The orgasm that hits Cara started first in slow, elongated pulses of her muscles tightening around his cock; then it’s in quick succession, building stronger, rolling on top of each, higher and higher, until she’s jettisoning her hips forward in rapid jabs, satiating every last pull and recession like it’s a drug. Robbed of all sound, she buried her face into Din’s exquisite neck, dewy with sweat, her mouth biting, kissing, lapping the skin there.

She’s barely over her peak, when Din, tensed suddenly, sobbing, and he comes with a shudder, body falling forward. She caught him easily, wrapped her capable arms around him.

“I got you,” she said, lips right on his beskar, rocking with him until the mighty trembling in his entire body ceased. “I got you.”

* * *

They lie like that – Din a puddle of heat on top of her – until Cara’s sure both her arms have fallen asleep.

“Din,” she said. “As much as I love holding you…”

He adjusted, finally pulling out of her, and both react to the loss, humming in unison and clutching each other a little tighter.

Cara’s overwhelmed by the sheer _presence_ of Din. He’s still nestled in close, the cheek plate of his helmet slotted conveniently onto the bulb of her shoulder, and the cool, rounded fore helm touching on her clammy cheek. It’s in sharp contrast to the rest of Din, who runs hot. Reveling in the feel of his bare skin, she raked her nails up and down his back, grabbed a handful of his ass. He grunted and it makes her smile.

“Guess you won’t be needing that vibrator anymore,” he said, with no trace of irony. She felt Din shuffle beneath her, a rumble of a laugh forming in his chest. 

It was a shame, because up until that moment she had completely forgotten that she had left it behind, in her overnight bag on that planet where they blew up some Imps.

Cara was skeptical but smiled into his forehelm all the same. “Are you saying you’re better than a machine?”

Despite having just quenched their long, unspoken desire for each other, the air was suddenly charged with something molten between them. The form of his shoulders set into their typically rigid line; he raised his helmet just a smidge, visor trained on her face.

“Is that a challenge, Dune?”

She shivered and huffed a laugh. Ok. Check and mate. No amount of training had prepared her for _that_.

* * *

Round Two was not nearly as hasty as the First.

Cara lay Din back among the soft bed (nothing poking out of the mattress here), and she stroked him until he was hard again – the man, practically a monk, did not disappoint. She sat in his lap, heavy thighs quaking with the effort of holding herself up while she teased herself on his cockhead, going slow, decadent and methodical.

Cara thinks she could do this all day.

Until she has him moaning and writhing, all sprawled beneath her, helmet inclined in such a way to watch the indecent view of his dick finally, finally sinking into her pussy. Cara made sure his admiration wasn’t going unnoticed, what with the way she ground down a little harder on his massive cock.

 _Stars_ , Cara wants him every which way.

Now they’re sitting up in the center of the bed, warm and content. Din’s hand snakes around her calf, hitched it over his hip, so they’re nearly chest-to-chest. Their limbs tangled like some eight-legged-two-headed creature.

“And here, this whole. Time. You. Just. Wanted.” Cara punctuated each word with a lazy path of kisses along his collarbone. “To. Get. In. My. Bunk.”

Din grumbled, but it’s toothless. Cara’s about to cackle out loud at the fact that this man is so dumb. Instead, she diverted her attention to her next victim – an ugly scar on his shoulder that she worried between her teeth to make Din squirm and hiss.

“Took out all your frustration on a stupid _toy_ ,” she added.

Din’s not amused by her teasing. Cara took in the impassive expression of his helmet and poked his ribcage to garner a response. Din’s reflexes prevented her from getting another poke in and Cara’s laughing and laughing.

“Oh, Din,” she purred, but is smiling so much she thinks her face might break in two. “ _Din_.”

She scrambled into his lap, rolled her hips and –

“Din.” She’s suddenly serious, gripping his bicep.

And that started Round Three.

* * *

She throbbed all over, mostly in her pussy. It’s more of the last embers of pleasures still coursing through her, dissipating as neatly as the beads of sweat already evaporating off her cooling skin.

They were both too exhausted to hold themselves up. So, they just lay side by side. Din tenting her leg up while he slid in from behind – Cara gives a little half-start just at the memory of that – so wet and full of their combined juices. And they’re just lazily rolling their hips, grinding together. Din’s forehelm on her shoulder, his hands, warm and precious on her breasts.

She can’t piece together what he’s muttering to her, too garbled for coherence. For all Cara knows he could be singing praises of her pussy. But the _meaning_ is so tender, that it aches.

When Cara comes it’s soft, muted, and gentle like a rolling hill. Din peaked soon after her, cock shuddering inside her.

Wilting like flowers, they sighed into the bed together.

Din’s running circles and patterns over her round breasts, up and down the sides like he’s navigating some secret path, brushing against her nipple, not with heated intention, just curiosity, mingled with awe.

Her heartbeat a constant thrum under his hands.

* * *

Cara sees it when they’re dressing.

She stopped him before he puts his undershirt back on. Din tenses. Still a hunter through and through. He only relaxes when he feels her caressing a purpling bruise on his neck, right over his pulse point. It’s a mark from Round One.

Cara’s mark.

Possessiveness filled her, pricking as sweetly as lust. Mouth dry, she licked her lips. Din’s sharp eyes caught it.

His skin's aflame under her lips, as she kissed the spot on his neck. A mere ghost of a kiss, but if he knows the glint in her eyes: there’s a promise to it.

* * *

“This is really nerve-wrecking.”

“You’re going to be fine.”

“I don’t know, Din, I just don’t know.”

“Ok,” said Din, calm and collected over her shoulder. “What’s first?”

She ran the scenario over in her head. If she closed her eyes, she could see him sitting right where she was now. Her hand shot out to the left. “External engines.”

“Yes.”

She flipped the five switches. The Razor Crest hummed around them.

“Then?”

“That would be…” Her fingers found them before her mind could pinpoint exactly – two switches on the right console, first red, then green. She had seen him twist in his seat in the exact same way. She gripped the steering before her. Then the two switches overhead…

“Now for take-off, just forward push on that lever,” Din instructed.

She edged it forward. The Crest lurched, nearly knocking everyone over. The kid, all buckled in his repurposed crate behind them, giggled exuberantly.

“Easy, Cara. Easy,” said Din, gripping the back of the pilot’s chair, while directing her. “Just very delicately.”

Cara adjusted her grip, going slower now. The ship leveled out. “Okay? Like that?”

“Good,” he said. “Yeah, not bad.”

The Razor Crest lifted off the ground, a little shakily, but not in a sickening way. The HUD lit up her path, guiding her trajectory into the atmosphere. They passed out of the hangar and upwards, leaving Mos Eisley behind them, for now.

Cara breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m doing it! I’m flying your ship!”

Din chuckled behind her. “Let’s not get cocky.” And then he groaned like he immediately regretted saying that, but Cara’s face lit up and she found her opening.

“You know what else is cocky?”

“Cara, do _not_ finish that sentence!”

The Child made an amused snicker and corresponding squeak behind them, and they both whipped around to find him suckling on that Mythosaur necklace, ears wiggling, all the merrier for it, unbothered with the wobbly take off.

“I think he wanted to hear the joke,” said Cara, jerking her head at the Child.

But Din silenced her with one look.

Cara kept a light forward pressure on the steering, and as they rose out of the clouds, she smirked. “Well, speaking of, you what I was thinking…you know what would be really sexy?”

“Coming from you, Cara, no, I don’t really think I do.”

“Um, the correct answer, is yes, dear– oh kriff!” The ship swayed and dipped, veering on dangerous, interrupting her only because her throat landed in her stomach.

Din, still holding the headrest for balance, pointed to the HUD screen. “See those lines: keep them parallel as best you can while you navigate the atmospheric turbulence. That’s how you keep her stable. Just keep checking that.”

“Ok, ok.” The ship righted under her control.

“That’s it. Good.” Din’s proud voice said over her shoulder.

She alternated between watching the screen, looking out the viewfinder, and casting half-sheepish, half-fearful glances at Din beside her, who was being a rare class of patient with her. This had been her idea after all.

They cut through the jumbo clouds, heading right in the direction of the setting twin suns of Tattooine, which were throwing gorgeous hues of pinks and oranges into the sky as they fell below the horizon. It was beautiful.

Most importantly, Cara thought, it cast the most amazing reflections on Din’s armor.

Now that she was getting the hang of it, the Razor Crest sailed much smoother. Their trajectory took them upwards, heading towards the blackness of space, leaving the turbulence behind and Cara could collect her thoughts again.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I was thinking it would be sexy,” she said, to a mouthful of more groans from Din, “if, you know, next time we get a babysitter, maybe I sit on your lap while you fly the ship. Only, surprise! One of us is _naked_.”

She shot him a glance, waggling her eyebrows most suggestively and biting her lip. Din’s helmet cocked knowingly; it was all she needed to read.

“You’re right, I’m naked,” she amended, turning as pink as the clouds they were flying through. “I’m totally the naked one in that fantasy. Sexy, right? Just you think on that, tinhead.”

Din sighed. But in no way a discouraging manner.

* * *

Din replaced her vibrator.

He decided to share it with her while he's already nestled deep in her pussy.

"Are you – joking?"

Cara's having trouble exerting any more words. Din only responded with a circle of his hips, and Cara's mind goes blank, like static.

He turns it on, and it hummed into life in his hand. Cara thinks she might actually vibrate herself clear into another dimension, because then he’s slowly bringing the tip of the silicone phallus, a loud pink color, just like her previous one, down to her…

But the image of Din purchasing this item in some seedy bazaar had Cara stalling.

“Hey!” Din growled, seeing her eyes glaze over. “You with me?”

He does that thing again with the circling and the hips and the way his cock just _drags_ in Cara’s pussy. Hitches a little outward, then sunk back in, yeah that got her attention alright. She’s moaning, lewd and shameless.

And he’s bringing the tip of the vibrator down… between their bodies, already as close as they can get. It's humming a glorious tune. Music to Cara's ears. She clenched around his cock in anticipation, because he’s moving it right onto…it’s right on her – oh! 

Din bucked. “Oh, I can feel it,” he said, all breathy and eager.

He’s put it - right…

Cara came so fast she didn’t have time to prepare Din for it. She squirted, _soaking_ the two of them. Hot liquid gushing out of her like a waterfall, flooding between them, running down her thighs; Cara actually spared a woeful thought for the sheets beneath her.

Din’s reaction is animalistic to say the least. He gripped her hips and gave what could only be described as a roar, and pounded right into her tight, drenched pussy until he came, shooting hot spurts of cum into her, adding to the mess and stickiness already between them.

The machine falls silent to the bed beside them.

“Wow, Dune. Impressive,” Din said, mesmerized, petting her wet thighs.

“I swear to the Maker that has never happened before,” she said, and collapsed back onto the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> later chapters of outtakes might be added later...see how I feel...


End file.
